The Misplacement and Reclamation of Sydney Bristow
by Squashed Sandcastle
Summary: Another post-finale fic, though this one is different I guarantee you. A pairing of characters, but NOT Vaughn, Sark, or Will; curious? Hey-- Finally updated!
1. Default Chapter

"You were missing for two years . . . . .Nobody could find you. . ." Sydney didn't stay to hear Vaughn finish the sentence.  
  
Millions of thoughts flashed through her head.  
  
Will dead. Her father, mother, where were they?  
  
and  
  
There was a ring on his finger.  
  
He wouldn't touch her.  
  
Two years. . . .  
  
Everything would have changed, she wouldn't have kept up. There would be nothing for her.  
  
Nothing.  
  
She could not accept it.  
  
Vaughn was climbing out of the shattered window after her. His fingers just barely brushed hers as she leaned forward off the fire escape rail and headfirst towards the ground.  
  
The dumpster below provided a safe enough landing place, and then Sydney was off again. In only a dingy white T-shirt, and grey cotton pants she ran, and sought the sanctuary from reality in Hong Kong's neon painted streets. Broken beer bottles from a hundred drowned spirits were scattered across the street, waiting to add another cut to the growing number on Sydney's bare feet.  
  
A thin silver band encircled Sydney's ring finger. Very small, but very pretty, she thought. It was the only defining mark she could find on her person besides the white rags that clung to the wetness on her body.  
  
Looking back once at Vaughn, Sydney could see him frantically talking on his cell phone, probably calling in the renegade agent's escape. That was her. No longer Sydney. A number of a machine that had gone awry. Sydney's face twisted in pure resentment.  
  
The old Vaughn would have called out to her, not called in to a cell phone. He would have chased after her. But he wasn't the same.  
  
Which meant. . . . she wasn't the same.  
  
There was no longer a Sydney Bristow.  
  
With this revelation, a new artificial calm swept over her. She no longer existed. She would make sure of it. That way things could somehow could return to normal, if her logic was correct.  
  
She would forget instead of forgive. Forget the betrayal, the seeming lack of effort in locating her, and the lack of support she now found in her situation. Forget everything.  
  
Ducking into another alley, the woman who used to be Sydney took many sidestreets before arriving at her destination: The United Bank of China: Hong Kong Branch.  
  
If she made this transaction quick enough, she could get it done before the CIA would be watching the banks. She estimated that it had been approximately 3 minutes since her escape from herself, enough time for Vaughn to make the call, but not enough for the CIA to have started monitoring her interests. She would just take the bare minimum from her account to avoid suspicion.  
  
A long time ago she remembered Noah Hicks giving her some sound advice in the espionage business. Have one private account that remains secret and untouched, specifically for emergencies, and for the extremely rare agent, retirement.  
  
There goes my retirement fund, she thought as she handed the teller her slip. The teller looked at it a moment, then went to the back. The woman who used to be Sydney exited the bank with $2,000 American dollars in tow. It ought to be enough to get me started, she thought.  
  
____________________________________  
  
A woman wearing all black with her hair wedge-cutted in a violent shade of purple approached the port at the Bay of Bengal. On a fine silver chain holding a small silver ring disappeared underneath her black shirt collar. Intelligent brown eyes glinted behind the dark sunglasses as she gave her forged ticket to the cruise manager. A cruise to Singapore should be enjoyable, she would have to take things from there. Possible find some passage to Europe.  
  
A distinguished gentleman with dark curly hair spoke in spurts to the cabin director onboard the cruise.  
  
"Scusilo, dove è il mio bagaglio?" The large hand gesticulations stopped momentarily as the man noticed her staring. He gave her a wink and a dirty smile, as if to say, "we'll talk later."  
  
She had found her transportation and living quarters with one hit.  
  
Next stop, Italy, she thought. 


	2. Sardinia

Sardinia, Italy  
  
************************  
  
A young woman, sporting tight black clothing and sullen maroon hair exited at the docks, leaving a cruise liner and a weeping Italian mogul in her wake. In her purse she held the $20,000 she had gradually stolen from him over the two weeks.  
  
In her previous life, she had always wanted to visit Italy for something other than work. She wanted now to live among the ruins, hear the ghosts and memories whisper to her at night in their cold distant way.  
  
They would be her only companions.  
  
Hiking up to her first destination in what she hoped would be a long unexistence, she contemplated her list of essentials. A small tent and sleeping bag, in the rare instance that she couldn't find a man or a cheap hotel taking cash. Toothbrush, hairbrush, and toiletries. A wardrobe of black, with the occasional bottle of hair dye. And a computer. Nothing else.  
  
Finally she reached the spot. Looking across at the ruins, she sat in the middle of the ring of pillars, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. The wind rustled and spun around her. Over in the distance, the sun set while she stood still.  
  
*************************  
  
Kendall glared over the table at Agent Vaughn.  
  
"This is incredibly disappointing, Agent Vaughn."  
  
Vaughn just clenched his jaw tighter and continued staring at Kendall. He knew this would be coming. Now He would be late coming home to dinner while he endured yet another lecture from a man who hadn't been in the field for 15 years.  
  
"Bristow's been missing for 3 weeks now. All because of you." Emphasis on the "you", Vaughn noticed.  
  
"Now, I won't even get into the emotional attachment that you two had formed before, I'm sure at this point you're already aware of the stupidity in that move, and how it directly connects to why she's missing now."  
  
Vaughn just stared and waited for the torture to be over. Then maybe he could go home. Kendall let out a frustrated sigh, and started to run his fingers through his hair before remembering he had none. His hand dropped to his side.  
  
"What leads do we have?"  
  
Thank God, Vaughn thought. A chance to speak.  
  
"We have photographs of her exiting a cruise in Singapore with Italian millionaire Giovanni Locascio. Our sources in Italy are awaiting your orders to interrogate him."  
  
Kendall raised his head.  
  
"Who've we got in Italy?" Vaughn fluttered through the folder, searching for a name to appease Kendall's temper.  
  
"James Lennox."  
  
**************************  
  
"Mr. Locascio. If you'll just cooperate a minute, we'll send you on your way." Lennox deliberately spoke in English just to spite the man. He'd heard of Locascio's trade connections, and none of them seemed at all legitimate. Just looking at the man, Lennox could sense the blue-blooded grease rolling off of him. Someone who cut off a few heads to gain his wealth. There was no natural class here that came from being bred in high society.  
  
Locascio just glared and gave no reply. Lennox ignored the look and flashed the photograph in front of his face.  
  
"Who is the woman in this picture?" the Italian gave a disgusting laugh.  
  
"You think I ever asked her name?" He said in between laughs. Lennox resisted the urge to gauge out the man's eyeballs. All he could think of was, Sydney must have been in a seriously desperate situation. Either that or she needed someone she could control easily. Probably a little bit of both, he reasoned. Counting to ten, he fired away with his next question.  
  
He held up another photograph, this time a headshot of Sydney for government file.  
  
"Would you say that this is the same woman?"  
  
Locascio took a long look at the photograph and then nonchalantly leaned back.  
  
"Yes." He said, uncaring.  
  
"Where did you last see this woman?"  
  
"Italy. She ran off in Sardinia." There was a tense pause. "The Bitch stole $20,000 from the safe in my room. Does this interview mean I will be compensated?" He asked all of a sudden, his tone higher and hopeful.  
  
How Lennox relished the chance to dash this man's hopes.  
  
"The United States government thanks you for your time, and has decided to just leave this as a life lesson for you not to run around behind you're wife's back with anonymous women. Sorry, but there will be no compensation for your own stupidity."  
  
With a slight smile, he walked out of the office.  
  
*************************  
  
The same maroon-haired woman sat in a café somewhere in Paris, a newly purchased laptop in her lap. A sigh escaped her lips, scattering the steam that rose from her coffee cup. She had known all along that Sardinia was only meant to be a pit stop, but she already missed the Mediterranean sunset. She vowed to herself that when things calmed down she would return, and stay for good.  
  
Purchasing the laptop had been the last thing she had done in Sardinia before jetting out. With any luck, the CIA informants whom she had seen working there had reported the sighting within the hour. As far as the United States government was concerned, Sydney Bristow was still on the Mediterranean coast.  
  
Refocusing on her task, she looked down at the laptop screen once more. She had hacked into the network system of a small cyber café in Campobasso, Italy, and now was preparing to revisit her past once again for survival purposes.  
  
Dark circles were present under her eyes. Since her rebirth, she had not slept for more than an half hour at a time. At night it was the worst. The memories came, unwelcome and uncontrollable. And poured out into tears. It was only at night that she could feel the suspension she had put on her life.  
  
Consequently, she had found excuses to stay up at nights, frequent a hundred different bars and clubs in the short few weeks of freedom the she had recently experienced.  
  
Shoving the thought of her tears out of her mind, she began to type.  
  
**********************  
  
Weiss and Vaughn burst into Kendall's office in the middle of a meeting. One look at their faces and Kendall excused himself from the board, and walked impatiently out into the hall.  
  
"This had better be good Agent Vaughn."  
  
"Sir, we've received a message from Agent Bristow." Kendall's eyes widened.  
  
Before Kendall had a chance to interrupt with questions, Vaughn continued.  
  
"She sent me an E-mail, from some cyber café in Campobasso."  
  
"Let me see the message."  
  
Vaughn hesitated a moment, but Kendall ripped it from his hands before any protests could be uttered.  
  
**********  
  
Vaughn-  
  
I am sorry for the grief I have caused you in the past years, though I have no idea how long you grieved since I saw the ring on your finger. I am even sorrier for the grief that you have caused me.  
  
Does she kiss like me? Never mind, I don't want to nor need to know. That point is gone as fast as a Sardinian Sunset.  
  
I no longer wish to return to you, since it obvious that I am no longer wanted by anyone. I would only be a plaything of the government, my mind would only be continually bent further then it already has been within the past few weeks. I realize that my unasked questions about the missing years can only be answered upon my return, but I have also realized that I have eliminated my need for them, as I have forcedly eliminated my need for you.  
  
I have eliminated everything altogether. I do not wish revenge of any kind, have no worries of that. I do not wish to revisit any of it. I know now that the only way to do that is to disappear. I only wish to be gone. Therefore I am.  
  
Yours, but no longer anyone's,  
  
The former Sydney Bristow  
  
**********  
  
Kendall reread the note twice, and finally looked up at Weiss' and Vaughn's anxious faces.  
  
"What the hell does this mean?" He exclaimed.  
  
********************************  
  
Paying for the coffee, the maroon-haired woman silently closed the laptop with a conspiratorial grin on her face, and walked down the cobble stoned Parisian streets.  
  
Ahead the sun was setting again, but it was still nothing compared to Sardinia. 


	3. Epitaph

It had been another year now and she still had not been able to settle down.  
  
It wasn't the CIA; she'd lost them long ago. If her sources were correct, they were still searching Italy, scouring every building in every city, and every barn in every golden countryside.  
  
Something else in her made it impossible to stay in one spot too long. It was as if she was searching for something, but she had no idea what it was.  
  
Meanwhile, she had gone from Sardinia to Paris to Munich to Madrid to another Spanish Cruise to New York to Chicago to Aplington to Waterloo to LA, with hair every shade of the rainbow everywhere she went. Next on the agenda: the Keys.  
  
But in her masochistic mood, she had to stop. Had to stop in LA. Gaze into the window of the former residence of the former Sydney Bristow. She had been hoping to see a family with children erasing the blood that had spilt on those floors with toy trucks and cracker crumbs. She should Have known that the CIA would have sequestered it for investigation. You would think that after 3 years they would have realized that nobody left any intentional clues behind.  
  
And now, the end all be all, it was pouring down cold reminders of things she tried hard to forget.  
  
Before she could remember other places to visit, she ran to the airport and didn't stop til she had boarded the plane. She had known when she had landed here that this had been a mistake.  
  
********************  
  
It was the fourth time that Lennox had knocked on Kendall's office door this week. Nobody seemed to share his suspicions. Suspicions that Bristow was no longer in Italy, and perhaps she had never been there in the first place.  
  
But then, it seemed that nobody really shared his interests in the case at all. He had long ago been assigned to other assignments, but he still pondered obsessively over this one. Vaughn had once shared the obsession, but now he had a wife and child to worry about. Lennox didn't blame him.  
  
Jack Bristow might have been on his side, had he not been sent to isolation. A tiny little island paradise owned by the American Government housed him, since his breakdown at the loss of the only thing left precious to him. Sydney.  
  
In the end it was all about Sydney. The Prophecy. Rambaldi. All pointing towards Sydney.  
  
But again, nobody really cared anymore. Sloane had disappeared completely a year after Sydney vanished, as well as Irina and Sark. No trace of them in 3 years, and eventually the CIA had just given up. No need to worry about threats no longer prevalent.  
  
So Lennox had been left with his instincts and no backup.  
  
And for the fourth time, Kendall dismissed his concerns.  
  
"Look, Agent Lennox-- we've done everything we can. We have all exits from Italy manned. If she tried to leave, we'd have her. She's still in Italy." He said in a finalizing tone. Undertones of "Do not argue or I will snap you neck".  
  
It had been like this ever since he had returned from Italy.  
  
"You need a vacation Lennox." Kendall continued. "I can't use you in this state. Why don't you go down to the Caribbean? Maybe visit your wife's grave. . . ." This was Kendall's way of telling him that he wasn't allowed to turn to a workaholic obsession to replace his dead wife's memory.  
  
Three years and still he sometimes sat up nights with sharp pangs running through his body, just remembering what it used to be like. Dejectedly, he walked out the door and to the airport, hoping his wife could give him some sound advice when he visited her. He would need it after the mess he had made of his life.  
  
*******************  
  
Somewhere in Moscow, an aging man sat waiting behind a desk. Waiting for the final piece of the Rambaldi puzzle, which seemed to have disappeared 3 years ago without a trace. Sloane wanted his dream to be realized before he died, but looking at the incompetence around him he was unsure if his dreams would come true.  
  
Sark sat across the desk looking at him, with the same nonchalant stare he always wore. But Sloane could tell that the boy was nervous. Impatience was a trait one did not like to see in their bosses.  
  
"Any more news on her whereabouts?" He asked bluntly. What was this kid doing in the business anyways? He wondered. He couldn't be more than 23. He was the only employee Sloane had working for him whose past was still a mystery. Sloane normally liked to know everything about his employees, but Sark was so good that he didn't care.  
  
"No." he answered simply. Sark eyed the wine bottle on the side table.  
  
"Feel free." Sloane sighed. Sark obliged, and poured two wine glasses with the rich maroon liquid.  
  
"If there is no more news, why did you insist on seeing me?" he continued.  
  
"Apart from your wine?" Sark smirked. Sloane didn't smile back, and Sark continued.  
  
"I was requesting permission to look more outside Europe for Miss Bristow. I am beginning to believe that the CIA wasn't quite as sure of her whereabouts as they thought they were." Sloane translated the statement as: The CIA are imbeciles that shouldn't even be considered as espionage group for all they're good for, and we were even bigger imbeciles to follow their lead in the search.  
  
The funny thing was, Sark was probably right. Sydney and Jack had been their only assets, and they'd effectively driven both parties away.  
  
He was still angry about losing Sydney. Irina had been livid. A year ago they had still had her, and the prophecy was as good as fulfilled. He would have finally had his ultimate power. But ineffective transportation of the weapon had led to its loss. Sydney had fought tooth and nail in the truck in Afghanistan, and she had gotten away. Next thing he knew, Sloane's CIA contacts were telling him that she had showed up in Hong Kong with no memory and no friends.  
  
And then like that, she was gone again.  
  
They needed to get her back before November, or else all will have failed.  
  
"Request granted." Sloane said finally. The boy had good instincts, Sloane would trust them for now.  
  
"Where are you planning on looking first, Mr. Sark?" He added as an afterthought.  
  
"I thought I'd start in the Caribbean." He said with a smirk.  
  
*************************  
  
Blonde curls now to go with the Caribbean sun, that is what she wore. That and little else. Her barely-there red bikini left little to hide, but she didn't care. After the emotional hangover she was going through, the only cure was the numbing feeling of being daring and careless.  
  
She still wasn't sure she liked the blonde though. The first chance she had here, she resolved to go back to maroon. That had been her favorite hair color by far. Rolling her eyes at the sunbathers, she waded in to the bright blue water and began swimming to a nearby sandbar. What was the point, she mused, of sitting on a beach if you do not admire the water?  
  
The water lapped up against her sides and cooled her baked skin. The ring she wore around her neck hung limp in the water as she swam.  
  
Standing up on the sandbar at last, she looked out at the crowd in the distance. A few had looked up to view her insanity, and more than a few men had looked up to view her bikini. Unabashedly, she laughed out loud at all of them, and then turned again.  
  
Farther out on the horizon was another island, this one slightly larger, but not large enough to build a hotel on, so it had been left alone. This was her prize.  
  
Jumping in the water once more, she dove down beneath the blue waves and started swimming underwater towards the island. Her blonde swam around her face. Don't get your hair wet after you perm, she remembered hearing. Oh well.  
  
It didn't matter anyways. She hadn't really liked the blonde. Back to maroon it is then.  
  
Just then she spotted something glinting underneath he white sands. Descending even further, she reached out for it. If she hadn't been underwater, she might have gasped. A man's diamond ring shone in the palm of her hand, exquisitely cut. Probably a wedding ring, she thought. This would make a good buck at the pawn shop. Or maybe a jewel dealer, if I can find one unofficial enough to not ask for I.D. Clenching it tightly, she continued swimming until she reached the shore.  
  
It was a beautiful island, probably only twice the size of her old house. Walking the perimeter, she looked out to the mainland again, now only a distant speck on the horizon. No matter. She knew she'd have the energy to make it back.  
  
On the opposite end of the island, she suddenly spotted something she had not seen before. It was a just a tiny corner of gray, almost completely hidden by a palm tree. No wonder she hadn't seen it from the sandbar.  
  
Looking closer, she was surprised to see it was a gravestone. Wet blonde sticking to her sun-dried face, she bent down to read the epitaph.  
  
"No man is an island. To those whom I have loved who lost me, I will continue to love you from afar."  
  
She took a step back when she read the name.  
  
"Here lies Emma Marie Lennox 1978-2003. Rest In Peace."  
  
She'd heard that name before, but didn't want to know where. Before she could stop them, memories flooded in. A woman, strapped to a bomb-Emma being forced to walk to her doom in the middle of a crowded square. Being forced to walk by a man she had thought was her husband. Genetic Engineering. Emma's doubled husband, crying for the loss of his wife and the loss of his identity. He had kissed her, though it had been more out of panicked loneliness than attraction, she knew. What was his name? Jim. Jim Lennox.  
  
A twig snapped behind her.  
  
With a crazed look on her face she whirled around, and came face to face with him. What was he doing here?  
  
Lennox looked as surprised to see her as she was to see him. Too surprised to try and capture her, as most likely the CIA would have wanted.  
  
"Sydney. . . ." He started, but couldn't finish his sentence.  
  
"That isn't my name anymore!" She ran, and panic stricken, dove into the water and paddled back to shore as fast as she could. Looking back only once, she could just see Lennox standing still on the shore, watching her go. He didn't even try to come after her.  
  
She had a pretty good idea now whose ring that was that she'd found in the sand. 


	4. Reckless

Lennox raised his hand, calling for another drink from the bar. The bartender stared at his suspiciously, but then slid him over another shot glass. At the other end of the bar, people commiserated, speaking in slurred Spanish. Toothless and squinting, one old man came lumbering up to him, scratching the salt and pepper stubble on his chin. The brown wrinkles in his eyes increased in their intensity as he gave an unnerving stare, trying to search out Lennox's face in his blindness. From the unintelligible mammering, Lennox deciphered that the man must have wanted money, most likely for another drink. For the first time, Lennox seriously empathized with the situation, and pulled a bill out of his pocket.  
  
Clenching it securely in his fist, the old man worked his gums once more and continued talking to no one. He continued to have a secure grip on Lennox's shoulder. Suddenly the grip tightened, and the man fell silent for a moment as he bent in closer to Lennox's face.  
  
The man's big black eyes opened wide, and when he spoke, the voice became clear and even.  
  
"Things will make sense soon. . . . . . You've just got to go with it." With that, the man turned quickly on his heel to go beg from other customers in his pathetic way, leaving Lennox speechless.  
  
He slammed down the coins to pay for his drink on the counter, and walked out as quickly as possible. He just needed to get back to the hotel and think.  
  
************************  
  
"Will that be all for you?" The woman at the drugstore asked her. On the pay counter was a bottle of maroon hair dye.  
  
"Yes." She said. And maybe a loaded gun, she added as an afterthought to herself.  
  
Walking out of the store, she looked behind her back out of instinct. She needed to escape this, especially after today with seeing Lennox. They're gonna be looking for me soon. One last night here, and then I'm gone. She needed to feel reckless.  
  
Going back to the cheap motel that she was staying at, she changed out of her white shirt and red bikini. Red. What had she been thinking? There shouldn't be any color. She had gotten too comfortable, that's what she'd done. It would be black from now on.  
  
An hour later, she entered the heavy metal club with maroon hair and black mesh on her body. A new addition, she now wore a large diamond ring on her thumb in addition to the one around her neck. It fit her mood completely. Before she could remember herself, she popped a few ecstasy pills into her mouth, and went to go join the Russian Roulette game going in the corner. One might say she was becoming more and more like her mother every day.  
  
***********************  
  
Sark had grown bored, something that happened easily and often. He had checked every single source, underground and mainstream, with no sign of Sydney Bristow. If she was here, she sure as hell wasn't trying anything. But Sydney was always trying something. The Caribbean was a dead trail.  
  
Sark smirked. There were other ways to enjoy oneself in Caribbean. Not all of them were legal, but all were quite enjoyable. And he was already in the hotel room after all. No need to go anywhere now. He reached over the bed to dial up the local escort service.  
  
A gruff man's voice answered, accompanied by loud pumping music in the background. The man must be in a nightclub, Sark thought. Not surprising. Sark calmly placed his order, talking a little bit louder for the man's benefit, and then hung up. He laughed at himself. How drunk was he right now, to be doing this?  
  
He had a feeling he would need to be even more drunk when she got here. Stumbling a little, Sark made his way to the nearly empty scotch bottle on the table. His hand shook so bad that he dropped it the minute he reached for it. Sark swore as the scotch poured out across the carpet. He would have to order more.  
  
He stumbled again on his way to the phone, and found himself groping for the floor lamp just to give him balance. All he succeeded in doing however, was knocking the floor lamp to the ground. Almost in slow motion it tipped downward, the bulb shattered on the carpet, still lit, and then before Sark could blink, there was a spark and the carpet was on fire. It had smashed over the scotch spill.  
  
Sark blinked once more, his vision blurred, before collapsing on the floor, passing out completely.  
  
*************************  
  
The Roulette game had been a bust. Twice in a row cowards had taken the bullet out secretly before the start. They had sat around that table for an hour before they realized that there was no bullet.  
  
Now somehow this had escalated into her doing a table dance for 6 or so masturbating roulette players. Ecstasy pulsed through her veins, and if she could focus long enough to remember, she thought a man had given her a cut on the arm and rubbed some white powder in right before she started this. It didn't matter. She laughed as she thought I'm probably end up getting raped by one or more of these men, but nothing mattered anymore. She wasn't real.  
  
Her shirt was now a crumpled pile on the floor, and one of the men was coming up onto the table. The man's cell phone was ringing. He swore at the delay, but stopped to grab it.  
  
She lifted up her head and squinted, trying to figure out what was going on. Another one was climbing up on the table, taking advantage of the man's interruption. The other one stopped talking on the cell phone long enough to punch the man off the table, protecting his possessions.  
  
"We'll have one come up to your room within the hour." She heard him say, then turn it off. She had started to come to her senses a bit better, and had started looking for her shirt before any damage could be done.  
  
The man laughed again when he saw her, still disoriented from the drugs.  
  
"How would you like to make me a little money?" He said to her. A British man in a hotel down the way needed a little help getting to sleep that night. The bass music was starting to her head in here, and instinct told her she should get out while she still could. She agreed.  
  
"Good. Now go find your shirt." All the men still surrounding the table laughed loudly at the joke.  
  
Besides, the drugs told her, you haven't fucked a British man yet. She jumped as a picture of Danny flashed in her head, but as quickly as it was there, the picture was gone.  
  
She exited the club with the promise that she's return before the end of the night with some money and a little more fun for the men still there. It wasn't a promise she would keep, but they had trusted her, still thinking her completely wasted. She could still feel the drugs at work in her body, but most of her sense had come back now, thank God. She had forgotten how much trouble you could get yourself into when being reckless.  
  
She had walked down to the end of the block when one of the men from the club had come running up beside her. They'd seen her walk to wrong way.  
  
"Nuh-uh, Princess, the hotel's that way." He grabbed her and pushed her in the right direction, and began walking with her. She knew she was in no condition to fight him. She'd just have to lose him at the hotel.  
  
She was never taking that many drugs at once again.  
  
*********************  
  
Lennox sat in his hotel room staring at a blank TV screen, just thinking. This used to be the hotel they had always gone to. It was kinda masochistic to stay here now, he thought. How he missed her.  
  
The best thing for it now was a drink. He got up to head down to the bar, but jumped back as soon as he gripped the white-hot doorknob. Tentatively, he put his sweatshirt over his hand and cracked the door open slightly to see what was on the other side.  
  
Flames flared up in his face, causing him to fall back. He just barely managed to close the door with his foot before the fire entered his room. Smoke poured in through the crack under the door.  
  
Instincts setting in, Lennox ran to the bathroom, wetting a bath towel and shoving it under the door crack to keep the smoke out. But he knew it would only keep the fire out for so long. He had to find a way out.  
  
Breaking the window, he climbed out onto the fire escape only to find it rusted and broken. He wouldn't be able to get down through here.  
  
Looking down he saw that fire trucks had arrived. Maybe they'd get it calmed down. Maybe.  
  
Deep down inside, Lennox knew that that was a whole lot of maybe.  
  
*************************  
  
During the long walk to the hotel, she had felt herself sober up little by little. The moment she realized that she had regained motor control of her body she had punched out the man walking with her and ran for it. It had only taken one hit.  
  
Racing around the corner, her eyes were blinded by the flash of light before. An entire hotel building, most likely the one that she had been requested for, was going up in flames.  
  
Without a second thought, she ran headlong for the building, trained instincts kicking in. She would be able to do a helluva lot better than that measly fire truck they had going there. It was a smaller hotel, that would help them in the long run. Only 5 floors, and the fire was concentrated to the 3rd floor and above.  
  
Running to a side alley, she jumped for a dangling fire escape ladder, and went in the second floor window. All the floors below had been evacuated, making it easier to navigate her way up to the third floor with little trouble.  
  
One or two firefighters stood at the other end of the hall, subduing the flames for the most part on that floor. Running through the door, she burst into an empty room on the opposite end of the hall. Another fire escape ladder dangled outside the window.  
  
Climbing up, she found the fourth floor much more ravaged than the third. Through the broken window, she ran into a room, and almost tripped over an unconscious person. He was lying face down, but she could see he was still breathing. Without thinking, she hoisted him up onto her shoulder and took him out to the fire escape and fresh air. Fire had ravaged most of his room, it was lucky that there was still a path to the window.  
  
Once she had him out on the fire escape, she started to lay him down gently, but accidentally dropped him hard on the metal, just through sheer surprise.  
  
The blonde spike hare and boyish features brought back quite a few unpleasant memories to her head. After this, she was going to have to leave immediately. No way was she staying here if Sark was around. A sinking feeling in her stomach told her he was probably here looking for her, like everyone else. Why did they all want her, she thought, running back into the hotel building.  
  
The Prophecy, a voice inside her said.  
  
Well she wouldn't have it. None of it. She was nothing now, and that's the way she wanted it.  
  
Not quite, the nagging voice told, he, as she climbed through two more windows. Just a few hours ago, is that what you wanted from nothing?  
  
That was different, she told herself, a mistake she wouldn't make again.  
  
You can't escape it, deep down it told her. YES I CAN!  
  
Squinting her eyes shut, she screamed just to make it stop.  
  
"Sydney?" Her eyes flew open. There was a person in this room. Flames were licking through the door and starting to scar the walls, but this room was relatively undamaged.  
  
Hunched in the corner, coughing and looking up at her, was Lennox. Without saying a word to him, she grabbed him by the arm and dragged him up, and out onto the fire escape. He was coughing and shaking his head at her.  
  
"I've tried that, it doesn't pull down all the way. . . . ."  
  
She just looked at him.  
  
"Did you ever just think of jumping into the window below yours?"  
  
"Oh." She just rolled her eyes, grabbed his arm and swung him in. Yep, she would definitely need to leave after this. Was Italy still out of the question? She wondered.  
  
"Sydney, Come on!" Lennox beckoned her into the lower hotel room.  
  
For her now, there was no other option. 


	5. Unemancipated and Interrogated

"Sydney!" Lennox was still calling down to her from the lower window. Suddenly a thought flashed in her mind.  
  
Sark.  
  
She would need to get him out, if only to question him later as to why he was here.  
  
"I'll be there in just a sec!" she shouted down to him. Lennox gave her a look, but nodded.  
  
She jumped to the opposite fire escape, jumped again, and she was there. Sark was still unconscious. An explosion flashed dangerously close above her head.  
  
"SYDNEY!" Lennox yelled.  
  
Crashing through a window on her way, she swung down to meet him, Sark in tow.  
  
Back on the ground once more, she immediately started running. Get away from Lennox. Sark's body weighed down on her, but she kept moving.  
  
"Sydney!" Lennox cried, running after her. Is that all he knows how to say?  
  
At this rate he was bound to catch up with her. He didn't have the 185- pound Sark burden. So she turned a corner, and waited to surprise him.  
  
Lennox ran in the alleyway, and was immediately met with her foot in his face. A surprised look flashed across his face as he was knocked to the ground. He should have known I would try to fight, she thought. When he picked himself up again, however, she could tell he was aware of his place now.  
  
Lennox threw a punch, which she easily ducked. A second fist came her way which she deflected, but just barely. With the drugs still present in her system, she was bound to be slower on the uptake. A sense of foreboding took precedence in the pit of her stomach.  
  
Releasing the tension and panicked energy, she gave a yell and kicked twice, once in Lennox's stomach, and once across his cheekbone. As he fell down, he managed to sweep his leg under hers. Her head fall back onto the blacktop. Reaching up to rub out the pain, she felt her head sticky with her own blood. Blackness swam at he edges of her vision.  
  
Lennox was still on the ground, but was starting to stand. In an effort to get out of his hitting range, she staggered to her feet, but found the blackness and blurred images began to coincide completely. She could feel the wind in her face as she fell again, before the blackness overtook her completely.  
  
__________________________  
  
As soon as he saw Sydney get to her feet, he knew she wouldn't remain conscious long. Positioning himself behind her, he just managed to catch her when she fell a second time. Now, what was he going to do with her? And Sark for that matter? He would have to get them secure in a hotel and then decide.  
  
Ten minutes later, he had them both next to him in the back of a grungy taxi.  
  
"Two raw eggs with milk and plenty of water, that's the cure for even the worst hangover! You make sure you tell them that when they wake up, and they'll be as good as new in an hour!" The taxi driver was giving Lennox tips on what he clearly assumed was a drinking problem.  
  
"Thanks, I will." He said cordially, paying the man and getting them in to the new hotel. It was slow going, and he got more than one strange look from the maids in the halls. Everyone else was asleep for the night, luckily.  
  
Lennox unlocked the door. Two beds and a love seat. Perfect. He dragged them both in, and tied them up securely for their own safety when they awoke. At least, for Sydney's safety. He really didn't give a damn about Sark. Gently scooping her up, he laid her the bed softly, and gently handcuffed her tied hands to the bedpost.  
  
After Sydney was secure, he dragged Sark by the arm into the bathroom, and tossed him into the bathtub, handcuffing him to the temperature knob. Quick and easy, with a lesser chance of escape. Plus, he could come in occasionally and spray water in Sark's face. Lennox smiled at the thought and shut the door.  
  
Lennox sat awhile, enjoying the silence and pondering what he was going to do about them. When he finally did hear the groans of someone waking, the sounds came from the bathroom, not from Sydney on the bed.  
  
Double checking to make sure Sydney was secure, Lennox opened the bathroom door with a gun trained on Sark's head the moment he entered. Apparently, Sark had awoken and smashed his head into the faucet first thing. Sark looked at him in between grimaces, and rubbed his head in his tied hands.  
  
"You couldn't find a more convenient place to stow me than the bathtub?" his voice remained cool, as normal.  
  
"It seemed like the only place to put you." Lennox bent down, gun still at Sark's head, and uncuffed him from the tub. Sark stood, and calmly waited until Lennox had put the cuffs back on his hands again.  
  
"That was way easier than I thought it would be with you." Lennox asked inquisitively as they walked out of the bathroom.  
  
"I guarantee you Sydney will be much more of a challenge." He said, opting to not enlighten Lennox to the reason for his behaviors.  
  
"Why didn't you fight me?" Lennox asked again, this time direct.  
  
"I have some business to discuss with Sydney."  
  
"If you think for a minute that I'm gonna leave you alone with Sydney. . ." A groan emitted from the bed where Syd slept. Lennox shoved Sark down in a chair.  
  
"Stay there, or whoever cares enough to even go to your funeral won't have a body to look at." Sark nodded and waited, never losing his calm. It was unnerving how cooperative Sark was being. Lennox was more suspicious of this behavior than of defiance.  
  
Keeping his hand on his gun and casting one more look at Sark, Lennox went to check on Sydney.  
  
*******************  
  
She woke up to fuzzy vision and hammers banging in her head. Before even opening her eyes she groaned at the pain. Voices were coming from somewhere, but for now they seemed to be more another source of pain in her head rather than intelligible words. She hadn't had a hangover this bad since her first year of college. And it hadn't helped that Lennox had thrown her to the ground a few times prior to her unconsciousness.  
  
Lennox.  
  
Her eyes flew open to see him approaching her. She finally became conscious of her tied hands and feet. Cuffed to the bed. She struggled in panic and let out the longest string of swear words she'd ever uttered in her life. It was so loud that Lennox stepped back a moment before approaching.  
  
"Let me go, you son of a bitch!!" Sark laughed out loud in the corner. What was he doing here? Shouldn't he be handcuffed to some furniture somewhere too? He was the enemy- she just wanted to get out.  
  
"I've never seen her like this; it's quite entertaining." Sark was deliberately trying to irk her, as always.  
  
"Listen, Syd. . . . I just need to ask you some questions." Lennox started.  
  
"About what? I don't know anything! I haven't known ANYTHING for years! I'm not Sydney anymore," she added to her angry outburst. "What are you going to do with me?"  
  
"Shouldn't it be obvious at this point?" Sark piped in again.  
  
Lennox just stared at her face, saying nothing. She paused a moment. Why had she even bothered asking?  
  
"Never mind. I already know the answer. It's back to LA with me right?" Her face was contorted with anger and shame. "After all, as weapons go, I'm pretty much defective now, right?"  
  
Lennox opened is mouth to speak, but she continued before he even had the chance. Three years of suppressed anger and emotion were spewing forth, and she'd be damned if Lennox tried to hold it back.  
  
"No! Don't even tell me that the CIA wants me back as an operative." She laughed sarcastically at the thought of such sincerity from such a corrupt government.  
  
"After all, it's not like they missed my company or anything. . . . No, I know what they'll do the minute I get off the plane in LA. There'll be guards to subdue me, guns pointed at my head. . . . Devlin will just be happy that he got the situation under control finally. I won't be a danger anymore; not that I ever was." She paused to catch her breath in mid-rant.  
  
"After all, we can't forget what Rambaldi said about me, now can we? I wasn't that big of a deal before, but now. . . . well, now I'm prophesized! My coming has been heralded as the end of the world! Fuck, to them, I'm bigger than Jesus Christ!" Silence followed her words as they sank in.  
  
"Don't tell me I'm not correct." She gave a condescending look to Lennox, then laid her head back on the pillow and closed her eyes. ". . . and I'm not answering any of your pointless questions."  
  
Lennox responded with silence.  
  
"Jesus, my head hurts." She whispered.  
  
"You want me to make you some raw eggs in milk?" Lennox asked.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Never mind." Lennox shook his head, and put a blanket over her. "Just relax for awhile and your headache might get a bit better."  
  
******************  
  
Sydney didn't speak again, but Lennox could tell she was listening. He turned his attention over to Sark, who was still sitting oh-so-quietly in the corner. A spider silently baiting the flies.  
  
"What about you? Why are you here?" Lennox said, sighing. This entire process was getting tiring.  
  
Sark motioned towards Sydney with his shoulder. "Her."  
  
Lennox should have known he would try to stay as vague as possible. He tried again.  
  
"Would you care to elaborate on this with the rest of us?" Sark tilted his head slightly, giving the aire with which one would talk to a child.  
  
"My official orders from Sloane were to find Sydney and retrieve her, but my intent is to discuss some business with Sydney not concerning Sloane. I was trying to find Sydney for outside business reasons."  
  
"What kind of business reasons? Are you saying that you've decided to betray Sloane?" Lennox was going at rapid fire pace now.  
  
"I never had any allegiance with Arvin Sloane in the first place. My loyalties have only ever been held by Irina Derevko, who was killed by Sloane almost two years ago," Lennox heard Sydney catch her breath. It struck Lennox suddenly. She hadn't known all this time that her mother had died during her disappearance. It was almost like him waking up to Sydney all those ages ago, asking for his wife and finding out she'd been dead a week without his knowledge. . . . An acute feeling of the unbearable and unbelievable. . .  
  
Lennox looked up a moment to see Sark looking at his face with a patronizing glare. Sark was too much of a nomad to mention anything, but Lennox could tell that he was getting annoyed. Good, he thought, I need him to loosen up.  
  
"So then what were you doing all these years with Sloane if he held no value to you?"  
  
"I was continuing Irina's research by honing in on Sloane's data files. The man's too smart to write everything down, but I definitely know more than I should about the Rambaldi prophecies. I made copies of all the files for Rambaldi, and other files Sloane kept, without his knowledge.  
  
"Where are they now?"  
  
"In a safety deposit box in Switzerland."  
  
"If you want to be cooperative, you'll help us to access those files. I guarantee you that that will save your life once you're in the custody of the American government."  
  
"I'll get you the files, but I seriously doubt that I'll ever get as far as government custody. I'll be gone before that step takes place."  
  
"What makes you so sure?" Damn, this kid was cocky, Lennox thought.  
  
"You haven't turned us in yet, have you?" Sark cocked his head again as he said it. He had to say, Sark had a point there.  
  
Just then, a clicking sound emitted behind them. Both men turned to look, expecting to see a gun cocked in their face. Lennox's eyes widened.  
  
It was worse. Sydney had picked the lock, and was now standing on the floor, unbound and pissed off. 


	6. Elevators and Oranges

Sydney had taken the brushed steel alarm clock off the bedside stand. Lennox just barely managed to dodge as a fastball timepiece went whizzing by his head. Another crack told him that the clock had found another mark: Sark. Lennox glanced over at him to see a newly formed cut on his forehead. Meh. He was still breathing okay.  
  
Looking back, he just saw the door swing as Sydney ran out of the room. Swearing under his breathe, Lennox tore after her, leaving Sark unattended on the couch.  
  
He caught up with her at the end of the hall, just as she ran into an elevator. Lennox barely managed to make it in before it closed. Once inside, his face was immediately met with a well-placed kick from Bristow. Lennox hunched over and touched his lip. Not bleeding. Yet.  
  
Jumping up suddenly, he lunged at her, pinning her hands against the elevator wall. He shoved his full weight against her, then wrenched her, struggling, so that her back was to him.  
  
"Jesus, Sydney, I just want to help you!"  
  
"I don't need your goddamned help!" She struggled to throw him off of her, but only succeeded in turning around to face him once more. Nothing accomplished. He still had her pinned.  
  
"Give it up, Syd." Lennox said, holding her struggling body close to his own to keep control, "You're hungover." Sydney breathed, becoming still for a moment. A sharp pang shot through her head, as if proving his statement's validity. Her eyes squeezed shut in pain.  
  
It suddenly became clear to Lennox how very close they were. Sydney's eyes opened once more, the pain obviously passing, but she continued to remain still instead of resuming the fight. She breathed again, warming Lennox's face.  
  
It had to be his imagination. It was almost as if the nothingness that shattered her complexion was receding, suddenly melting away like an ill- fitted mask. And for a moment, it was just as it had been 3 years ago, when he had kissed Sydney at the LA safehouse. Then, he had been drawn to her out of desperation. Hers was the first truly kind face he'd seen. The only one who could empathize with him.  
  
And now. there was some other reason for why his face was moving closer to hers. A reason he didn't want to identify. Not when he could feel the warmth of her face close to his, not when he could finally feel her started to relax against him.  
  
His face remained hovered slowly, tantalizingly near to hers, not willing to risk it, but not willing to break off the sensations he was feeling from simply being near her. The only thing he could hear was his own breathing. There was such humanity in her eyes again.  
  
"Sydney?" he whispered quietly.  
  
The familiar ringing sound assailed his ears as the elevator door opened wide. Lennox's head whipped around. It was their floor.  
  
"You guys going up or down?" A gray suit said, unperturbed by the fact that Lennox had Sydney pinned against a wall. Lennox looked back at Sydney, but her doors had slammed shut again.  
  
"Actually, we were just getting out." Sydney said, and shook him off coldly, strutting out of the elevator.  
  
************  
  
She didn't make any more escape attempts on the way back. With the hangover she had, it was hopeless anyways. Plus, she didn't want any repeats of what had happened in the elevator. If she wasn't careful, she'd start making mistakes all over again.  
  
A sudden frame flashed through her memory of Vaughn's lips on her own. Her eyes squeezed shut and the picture was gone. She compartmentalized now, and she kept all of the boxes shut.  
  
Surprisingly enough, Sark was waiting for them in the hotel room when Lennox slid the card through the lock. He stared up at them nonchalantly from his place on the couch, a newly administered bandage on his forehead from where her alarm clock had left its mark. She silently complimented herself for her aim.  
  
"Had a nice little walk did we?" he said with perfectly placid features.  
  
"Fuck you" she said, returning the favor.  
  
"Why are you still here?" Lennox said, bewildered. I was wondering the same thing, she thought. Sark sat back, and took a bite out of the apple he'd snatched from the complimentary fruit bowl.  
  
"I told you, I need to speak to Sydney." Sark shoved the bowl at her. "Orange?"  
  
She grabbed one and began peeling.  
  
"Why'd you choose that one? An entire bowl full of perfectly round oranges, and you choose the one that's bruised all over." Sark shook his head, then winced from the pain his own action instigated. So Sark's hung-over too. This should make for pleasant moods, she thought cynically.  
  
"I like the bruised ones better." No need for psychoanalysis. Jesus.  
  
"What do you need to speak to Sydney about, Sark?" Lennox asked impatiently, mocking him, talking to him like one would a child. Sark was suddenly engrossed in peeling his orange.  
  
Lennox began loading his gun.  
  
Sark smirked. "There will be no need for that. Sit down. Have an orange."  
  
Lennox still stood, glaring. Sark ignored him, and calmly took an envelope out of his jacket pocket.  
  
The envelope was an elegant piece of time within itself, made of the richest crème paper. It was stamped closed with a wax seal the color of dried blood. The letters "MR" stood out on the imprint.  
  
Sark looked at her. "It's for you Sydney. From your mother."  
  
She took it from his hand stiffly. She would burn it later.  
  
"Open it Sydney." Sark said.  
  
"I'll open it later." Lennox looked at her oddly. She turned and sat on the bed, trying her damndest to act casual.  
  
"What are you talking about, Sydney?" he said, laughing.  
  
"I don't want to open it now." She said, annunciating each word with dangerous quiet.  
  
"Why the hell not?!" the smile was still planted on his face, though more out of surprise now than jest.  
  
"Because, I Don't Want To!" Blackness danced at the edge of her vision. Why was everything pushing to spill in again? The water of a thousand memories was berating the doors of her head.  
  
Like when the water crashed up against the door with Vaughn. . .  
  
NO, not like that. Where did that come from? That didn't happen, none of it did. What mattered was the here and now. Why did they want a something from a nothing? Why. . .  
  
Sark and Lennox were looking at her, and she realized she'd been rocking back and forth.  
  
Lennox bent down next to her. "Why are you doing this?" he asked, a little more patiently.  
  
"Hell, would you quit trying to save me from something? I don't want to open it because I don't want to open it." She burst.  
  
**************  
  
Sark looked at her with a measure of understanding. Erasing one's identity wasn't easy, especially when it kept popping back up in your face. The truth was, Sydney was just too damned important to disappear for too long. On one level, Sark envied that, that she had too many people connected to her for her to possibly cut off all ties. But on entirely another level, he mourned for her importance.  
  
It was the reason they chased her.  
  
Yes, Sark knew plenty more than he should have under Sloane's regime. Much more than he would ever share.  
  
Sydney suddenly turned to face him from where she stood arguing with Lennox. Sark realized too late that he had been laughing at them.  
  
"What the hell are you looking at?" she growled. Sark just sat and smiled again. What a threesome they made.  
  
"What the hell are you so afraid of?" he retorted, deliberately pressing her buttons. He waited a moment while she glared, building tension. Sark feigned innocence (Something completely unbelievable to anyone who had encountered him), and made his last comment.  
  
". . . It's just a little letter after all." 


End file.
